


you see her when you close your eyes

by justimpolite



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 3x23, F/F, Grief/Mourning, Major character death - Freeform, Panic Attacks, Resurrection, Spoilers, canon character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:35:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justimpolite/pseuds/justimpolite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She doesn’t say anything. It’s been hours now.</p><p>‘She came here to save you, Lydia.’</p><p>‘But I couldn’t save her.’</p><p>She leaves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you see her when you close your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> a character death has never hit me as hard as this before. wow. i own nothing. if i did, it wouldn't have turned out like this.

‘She asked about you.’

They weren’t crying anymore. Not because they didn’t want to, but they honestly didn’t think they had any tears left in them.

‘She wanted to know you were safe. After she was-, after she-,’ Scott trails off.

She doesn’t say anything. It’s been hours now.

‘She came here to save you, Lydia.’

‘But I couldn’t save her.’

She leaves.

.

Her grandfather died when she was five years old.

She’d never experienced death before. She remembers tugging on her father’s sleeve, crumpling his suit, and asking why she couldn’t see grandpa.

‘I’m sorry Lydia, you can’t see him anymore.’

‘Why not?’ Lydia had pouted, even folding her arms across her chest, ever the stubborn one.

‘Because, honey,’ her father placed a hand in her red curls, cupping her cheek softly. ‘He’s gone to sleep, okay?’

For a few blissful years after that, death didn’t bother her.

.

And then she was sixteen and newly aware of her abilities, and somewhere along the way death became Death.

It felt like Death followed her everywhere. Sometimes it would become restless and lash out at strangers, people she didn’t know but still had to find, bloodied and broken. Sometimes it threatened those she loved; sometimes she kept them safe.

And sometimes it picked the person closest to her.

Sometimes it won.

.

She felt it the moment blade pierced skin.

Despite the fact it wasn’t her skin, or that she couldn’t even see it happening. Despite the fact she was trapped in a godforsaken tunnel, slouched over the body of a crumpled Stiles. 

She felt it more than she’d ever felt anything.

It hit her right in the chest and forced all the breath from her lungs. 

But this wasn’t a banshee scream.

No, this was the scream of a girl left alone in the world.  
.

Every night she dreams of arrows and silver; the scent of vanilla, and soft touches that soothe her for just a few short hours.

But then she wakes up, and it begins all over again.

.

She spent three days straight locked in her room, sobbing hysterically at the realisation she never said goodbye.

 

.

There are some days where she almost feels okay.

One night they decide to head out to a fair a few towns over. Not that any of them feel like having fun, whatever that was anymore, but they all knew they needed to do something.

Lydia trails behind Isaac, at the back of the group; it’s where she feels most comfortable. She sees Scott smile half-heartedly at something that Stiles says, eyes focused on his boots. She hasn’t seen Scott laugh in a long time now. Kira glances over at him. As far as Lydia knows, they’ve decided not to pursue anything. For now, at least.

She almost smiles at Isaac when he offers her some of his food he got from a nearby vendor. She just shakes her head and pats him on the arm awkwardly. She looks around, thinking about heading home to change into an over-sized hoodie (she supposes it’s her hoodie now, but as long as it smells of forest floor and vanilla, it will always be Allison’s) and shutting out the world once again. And that’s when she sees it. Or hears it, rather.

A childish peal of laughter reaches her ears, and she looks over to see a young girl jumping up and down excitedly next to one of the stalls. She couldn’t be anymore than ten or eleven, with dark hair and a wide smile. She has a miniature plastic bow grasped tightly in her hand, and is motioning wildly to a plush animal stacked up on one of the shelves as a prize. A prize for the arrow she managed to shoot right into the centre of the crappy paper target behind the counter.

The next thing she knows she’s stumbling back towards the parking lot, breath coming out in jolted gasps, hands shaking frantically before her. She reaches her car but can’t keep her hands still enough to shove the key into the lock. Instead her back hits the car door as she sinks to her knees. Her vision starts to blur and she can feel wetness upon her cheeks.

Then Stiles is in front of her, calling her name and telling her to breathe. He counts on his fingers, breathing along with her.

In, out.

In.

Out.

As soon as her breathing evens out, she keels over and vomits right on the pavement.

‘I miss her so fucking much,’ she says.

Stiles wraps her up in his jacket and drives her home.

.

She seeks Peter out. 

At the back of her mind she thinks maybe she should be more cautious without having her beside her, weapon drawn and eyes taking in every movement he makes.

The Hunter and The Banshee.

But she is so far past being scared.

.

Peter agrees to help her. She’s not sure why, but frankly she doesn’t care. He probably assumes he’s going to get something out of this. Then again, Lydia was very clear that the thing he would be fortunate to leave the arrangement with was his life.

He snarls, but nods anyway.

.

Time passes and nothing changes.

Until the night that everything does. She’s as prepared as she’s ever going to be, everything in the right place, and muttering the incantation Peter had supplied her with under her breath.

Everything is very still, and Lydia doesn’t move, willing for it to have worked. 

And then suddenly, there she is.

There’s no puff of smoke, or beam of light. The walls don’t shake around her, and nothing rises from the ground. It’s almost like the air around her shifts, as one second the space in front of her is empty, and then Allison is right there.

Lydia had thought that if it worked (not that she really dared to think that far) that Allison would be different somehow. Her eyes a shade darker, perhaps, or her lips a little less red.

(Lydia had been afraid of forgetting her; the shadow of her dimples or the way she would tuck her hair behind her ear when she spoke.)

But now, as she stands there before her, she is exactly as she remembers.

She looks just as Lydia remembers her, the last afternoon they ever spent together, sprawled out on her bed as they spoke about- god, what was it? Lydia can’t even remember.

There’s a moment where they just stare at one another. Lydia’s mouth had fallen open at some point as she draws in a shaky breath. Allison, on the other hands, does not look particularly surprised to be there. Maybe she’d known all along that Lydia would find a way to her.

Allison is the first to move. In two short strides she’s pulled Lydia into her arms and they’re both tumbling backwards onto Lydia’s mattress. They cling desperately to each other, Lydia grabbing fistfuls of Allison’s shirt, pulling at it with each sob that racks her frame. Allison has one arm wrapped tightly around her waist, and her other hand had found its into Lydia’s hair.

Lydia tries to speak but it comes out a mess of words. Allison tries to shush her, pushing her forehead up against Lydia’s. Lydia isn’t to be deterred, desperate to say everything she should have said that fateful night, everything she’s spent the last month saying to the empty left side of her bed.

‘I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I love you, I love you. I love you so much.’

Allison is crying now too, and choked laughter makes it way out of her throat, hanging in the air between them. Lydia’s never heard anything more fucking beautiful.

I’m here, I’m here,’ Allison says, pressing kisses to Lydia’s forehead, her cheeks, the tip of her nose.

Lydia manages to calm herself down enough to take Allison’s face between her hands as she says, her voice thick with emotion, ‘don’t ever leave me again.’

Allison nods, her own hands coming up to cover Lydia’s.

‘No, I’m serious, Allison. I can’t go through that again. I am you, okay. And you’re me. I’m not me without you, and you know I hate all that destiny bullshit, but that’s the way it fucking is, okay.’

‘Okay,’ is all Allison says, tightening her grip on the other girl even more. ‘Okay.’

Silence falls between the two of them again, and Lydia revels in it. She has been terrified of silence for the last few weeks, scared of the places her mind takes her when she’s left alone with her thoughts. But now she embraces it as she follows Allison’s jawline with a shaky thumb, trying to take in as much of the lost girl as she can.

(Not lost anymore, she thinks.)

‘We should- we should tell Scott,’ she finally says, ‘your father.’

‘No,’ Allison reaches out to pull Lydia back down as she attempts to get up. ‘Not right now. It’s-,’ she glances over at the clock on Lydia’s bedside table, ‘three in the morning. Let’s wait until later.’

‘Are you sure?’ Lydia’s tempted to be selfish in keeping Allison all to herself, but she knows the others deserve to know.

‘Can we just-,’ Allison gestures to the bed, ‘sleep, please.’

‘Sleep, right, yes.’ Allison cocks an eyebrow at her in question. ‘That’s not really something I’ve been getting a whole lot of lately,’ Lydia admits.

She’s sure she sees Allison’s breathing falter, but then she’s smiling again and holding her hand out to Lydia.

Lydia looks down at the hand, thinking back to all the times they would entwine their fingers together: walks in the forest, late night sleepover talks, when one of them just needed encouragement or comfort. She had played those memories a thousand times over in her head over the last few weeks, cursing herself for taking them for granted. 

She takes Allison’s hand in her own.

That would be the last time Lydia Martin ever took anything for granted.

.

When she wakes up several hours later wrapped in Allison’s embrace, she smiles.

**Author's Note:**

> nope still hurts.


End file.
